


The Cowlick in His Hair

by ellacj



Series: 52 Weeks of Swan Queen [42]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hate to Love, Henry-centric, Witches, neal (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellacj/pseuds/ellacj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The natural state of motherhood is unselfishness."</p><p>-Jessica Lange</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cowlick in His Hair

There’s a village in a forest far away. The village has stood untouched for decades, the only people coming and going being the babies born and the people dying. No one new has come to the village in ten years, since Emma Swan moved to town at the ripe age of eighteen. Everything has remained absolutely the same. That is, until Regina.

She moves to the outskirts of town into a cottage some say was built in a day, living alone but for her ten-year-old son. She’s rarely spotted outside the cottage but the boy can often be seen wandering through the woods outside the village. Most people say he’s looking for herbs for his mother’s potions and wicked spells. No one talks to the boy. No one even looks at him for more than a glance.

Until today.

Emma sits outside on a bench beside Red, both of them shucking corn for Granny’s casserole. She frowns as she stares at the boy wandering through the edge of town. “Does that kid look lost to you?” she murmurs to Red.

“Um, yeah, I guess.”

“I’m gonna go see if he needs help.”

Red catches her arm. “Don’t talk to him.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you know? That’s the witch’s kid.”

Emma frowns. “Who?”

“The witch Regina? She lives on the edge of town.”

The color drains from Emma’s face. She turns to look at the boy again, heart skipping a beat at that all-too-familiar cowlick at the front of his hair. “How old is he?” she whispers.

“I don’t know. Ten, maybe?”

“Oh my god.” Emma stands up. “That’s my son.”

“Wait, _what_?”

Emma steps forward toward the boy.

“Emma, wait. _Emma_!”

But Red is too late as Emma approaches the boy with a shaky smile. “Hey,” she says, hoping her voice doesn’t audibly quiver.

The boy glances behind him before turning back to her with eyes wide in what Emma recognizes with a pang as disbelief. “Hi.”

“Are you looking for something?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, almost unsure of himself. Or of her. “Rosemary. For my mother.”

“Follow me. My name’s Emma, by the way.”

“I’m Henry.” The reality of the situation crashes over Emma like a tidal wave at the sound of his name, and for the first time Emma truly realizes that her son is the son of an evil witch. And yet, she can’t bring herself to turn and walk away like she knows she should.

She offers a smile and gestures with her head toward where she knows Red grows the rosemary plants. Henry follows behind her with only a brief second’s hesitation. “So, what does your mother need rosemary for?”

Henry kicks a pebble with the toe of his boot, keeping it near him the entire time they walk. “She’s cooking supper.”

“Does she cook you supper often?”

“Most nights. She’s making a stew tonight, but we’re out of rosemary in the house. So she sent me out to get rosemary.”

Emma’s heart twists in her chest with every word Henry says. He’s clearly not had much human interaction in his life. They stop at Red’s herb garden and Henry begins loading the rosemary plants into his bag. “Thanks,” he says, turning to walk back toward that cottage.

“Let me walk you,” Emma says before her mind can catch up with her mouth. “Just to make sure you get there safe.”

Henry gives her a funny look. “Okay.”

They walk in silence for a few minutes, Henry swinging the bag of rosemary at his side and Emma simply staring out of the corner of her eye. Up close, she can see exactly the parts of Henry’s face that are hers and the parts that are his father’s. It’s strange to think of this boy, that’s so much _hers_ , has lived his life under the care of someone else. Someone utterly wicked as to steal away another woman’s child.

“So your mother,” she says softly. “Is she a good mother?”

Henry looks up to meet her eyes and his eyes are wide and more disappointed than sad. “You know who my mother is. Don’t you.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question, but Emma nods anyway. She doesn’t say anything else.

Before Henry can answer, they approach the cottage and the door swings open to reveal Regina coming out in much more modest dress than Emma’s ever seen her. “Henry, did you-” she breaks off, eyes widening as she takes in Emma’s face, but her vulnerability lasts for only a split second before she blinks her eyes and lets her cool mask fall back into place. “Did you find the rosemary?”

“Yes.” He holds up the bag.

“Why don’t you go inside and start chopping it up? We just need a handful.”

Henry nods and walks into the cottage, door swinging shut behind him.

Regina’s calm face morphs into a fierce snarl in a fraction of a second. “What are you doing?” she hisses.

“I didn’t know it was him until-”

“Henry is _my son_ , Miss Swan. That’s the deal you made.”

“I helped him find the rosemary, that’s all.”

Regina narrows her eyes and takes a step closer so that Emma can feel her breath on her face. “Stay. Away. From Henry,” she growls in a voice so low Emma can feel it reverberating in her spine.

She gulps and manages to hold her ground despite her quivering knees. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

The next day, however, when Emma sees Henry wandering around just outside town, she can’t stop herself from approaching him. “Hey, Henry,” she calls as she jogs over to him.

“Emma!” His face breaks into a wide grin, yesterday’s tense conversation seemingly forgotten.

“What are you up to?”

“Just out for a walk.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Henry smiles and shakes his head. “I’d like the company.”

Emma lets Henry lead the way until he sits down on a rock on the riverbank. She sits cross-legged on the grass beside him. “So how come you’re out here alone?”

“My mother is out.” Something in Henry’s face triggers something in Emma’s heart.

She sighs. “Do you know where she is? What she does?”

“I know she makes deals with people. I know I came from one of those deals.”

“Do you know the story?”

“Only what I’ve heard from the people in town.” He shakes his head. “I don’t believe it, though. I just wish my mother would tell me.”

“I know the story.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, but when Henry turns to her with shining, hopeful eyes she can’t regret it. “Your mother – your real mother – was eighteen years old when she was pregnant with you. She had no home, no work, and she was starving. Regina offered her steady work in exchange for the baby in her belly.

She didn’t even know she was pregnant, but as soon as Regina said it she knew she wouldn’t be able to raise the baby. So she accepted. Nine months later, she wanted to back out of the deal but it was too late. Regina came and took the baby away before she could even give him a name.”

Henry stares at her thoughtfully. “What would you have named me?” he whispers.

Emma smiles. She should have known Henry would be as clever as his father. “Baelfire. After your father.”

“Does he live in town, too?”

“No.” Emma fights the tears that threaten to spill over as they always do at the thought of Bae. “He’s in another world now.”

“Oh.” Henry grins. “But at least I found you.”

Emma sits there for a minute, drinking in the image of her son, her _son_ staring back at her, before reality catches up to her like a brick wall to the face. “I should get you home. Your mother is probably back by now.”

Henry sighs. “You’re probably right.”

They walk back to Regina’s cottage in companionable silence, and Emma finds herself noticing new parts of Henry with every glance – the way he swings his arms at his sides when he walks just like she does, the splay of his feet in opposite directions causing him to walk a little awkwardly. Just like his father.

“Henry!” Regina exclaims, running out the cottage door as they approach. “You didn’t leave a note; I was worried sick! Where have you been?”

“I found my real mother.” Henry wriggles out of her embrace and runs inside the house.

Regina slowly straightens to fix Emma with a steely gaze. “You told him?”

“I didn’t, I swear. He figured it out himself. He’s a smart kid.”

“I must not have made myself clear. _You_ gave Henry up, and _I_ took care of him when _you_ couldn’t. He may carry your blood, but he is _my_ son.” She whirls around to go inside.

Emma takes a deep breath. “Do you love him?”

Regina stops in her tracks. She turns to face Emma. “Excuse me?”

“Henry. Do you love him?”

“Of course I love him.” And with that, Regina’s gone, slamming the cottage door behind her and leaving Emma to accept the fact that Regina’s telling the truth with a flurry of emotions she can’t quite decipher.

Emma returns to her house in town with a million thoughts in her head, pacing back and forth in her bedroom while Red watches with the pitying eyes Emma loathes so much.

“Em, I think it’s time for you to move on,” she says finally.

Emma stops short and faces Red. “This is my _son_ we’re talking about, Red. I can’t just let it go.” She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “I mean, she does take care of him. And she clearly loves him. I don’t want to take him from her, I just – I just want to _know_ him.”

“And how are you ever gonna get her to let you do that?”

“I don’t know.” But even as she says it, an idea is forming in her head so quickly that she needs to sit down on the bed beside Red. “Or maybe I do.”

“Em?”

“Granny!” Emma calls rather than answering. She smiles as Granny pokes her head in the door. “I need an apple pie as soon as you can make it.”

Granny furrows her brow. “What for? You don’t even like apple pie.”

“It’s not for me. Please? For me?”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Granny grumbles.

“I really am. Thank you!” Emma half-squeals.

Just a few hours later, Emma’s walking over to the cottage armed with nothing but a still-hot apple pie. Her heart pounds in her chest as she knocks on the door. This could go either exactly how she wants it to, or be an absolute disaster.

Regina opens the door with eyes already narrowed. “Miss Swan, what have I told you?”

“Please, I’m not here to take Henry away from you or whatever you think. I never wanted to do that.” Emma sighs. “I just want to know him. Be in his life. I think you’ve done an amazing job raising him, and there’s no doubt you’re his mother, but don’t you think he deserves to know where he came from? Why that one piece of hair in the front of his head will never stay down, or why he always gets a stomachache when he has milk?” She’s babbling, but she can’t help it. Nothing has ever affected her this much before.

Regina tilts her head thoughtfully. She doesn’t say anything, but Emma figures that’s a good thing.

“I wanted to give you this. It’s a peace offering. My Granny makes the best apple pie for miles and, well, I know how much you like apples,” she adds with a weak laugh in some attempt at humor.

To her credit, Regina doesn’t incinerate her on the spot.

“Mother?” Henry’s voice calls from within the house. “Who’s at the door?”

Rather than slam the door in Emma’s face, Regina does the absolute unthinkable. “It’s Emma Swan,” she replies without breaking eye contact.

Henry appears in the doorway a moment later with that same grin Emma’s grown to love already. “Emma, what are you doing here?”

“Just dropping off dessert.”

“Is that apple pie?”

Regina smiles. “Your favorite.” She rests a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you take the pie to the table and set three places?”

Henry stares up at her. “Three places?”

“Emma will join us for a slice.” She turns to face Emma with an almost challenging look, as though daring Emma to correct her. “Won’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d love that.” And without even a single glance behind her, Emma hands Henry the pie and takes the first step into the house.


End file.
